a.n. yeah, well.

Its just a dream.
Its just a dream.
Its just a dream.

You wake up in a cold sweat. Your gasping for air and begging for the racing staccato beat of your heart to just inch a little faster. Just fast enough to make it all stop. You taste bitterness on your tongue, and you shudder, unsure if that’s fear your tasting, or just the twang of misused yesterday’s. Your eyes dart to the other side of the room out of reflex, but he’s not there, and you knew he wouldn’t be. He left for college weeks ago. Just up and left you to rot.

And you hate him.
Damn it you hate him for it.
The Bastard.

Yet its still his face you see in your dreams. His name you cry out when you wake, scared and shaking. Its him, and him alone who fills you up and makes you hole, and him who can rip you down and leave you empty all in the same instant, and God do you love him.

He’s a blinding, gut wrenching pain you just cant resist.

He called. Just before you went to bed, and you missed him. You replay the voice mail in your head a million times over, but in this post-sleep induced fuzziness, your sure the words are wrong somehow.

“Hey Brotha, Its me. It seems like all we do is miss each other lately, and im sorry for that. Well call me when you can, alright? I miss you, Drake. I love you.”

I love you.
I…love you.
Iloveyou.
I love you?

It’s the only thing he said that sticks in your mind really, the part that’s like a hallucinogenic nightmare bleeding drug, and you cant stand it. You hate the way he says it, its so beautifully articulated, like a prayer, or a well played lie. You aren’t sure which. It makes your heart soar and sink. It makes you crazy.

Because you know he doesn’t mean it.
He doesn’t.
He just doesn’t.

Not like you want him too. Need him too. You’d bleed yourself dry if it meant finding just a tiny speck, a glimmer of truth in that line, something that says “Hey, you mean just as much to me as I do to you bub.” But your not delusional, you know better, and it hurts.

Fuck it hurts.
Stop. Please stop. The pain.

You wish he meant nothing to you, nothing nothing at all. You want to be able to say he walked out of your life without you even batting an eyelash.

You want to hate is fucking guts. You wish, for once you could sit him aflame instead, and watch him burn for you. You want to just stop loving him. But you cant, and your not stupid.
You know your downfall has a name.

“Josh.”